The Last Story
by DaBigLizzard
Summary: The story is now complete. This is my submission to the fanfiction contest. It's also technically a prelude to Proper Education, the other story found on this site.
1. Grom Groknel

The Last Story – Chapter 1.

"Ogrimar is under attack!"

Kurn, captain of the city watch, gasped and practically choked on his grog. Dropping his mug and coughing for air, he turned to look at the breathless youth who had just burst into the inn.

"What? Who are they? How many?"

"I don't know sir!" The orc boy was barely more than ten summers. He pointed back the way he came, towards the south gate. "I was by the wall when I heard them shouting to close the gate. I knew you'd be here so I…"

Kurn didn't bother listening to the rest. Grabbing his axe, he nearly bowled the boy over as he ran out of the inn. He faintly heard Morag the bartender screaming after him to pay his tab.

"_Old fool probably isn't expecting me to make it back_." Kurn thought.

It was a short run from the inn to the south gate. Ogrimar was built in a naturally defensible canyon, and the southern entrance was the only area where an enemy could hope to successfully attack the city. The orcs had known this, and had erected a wall, one hundred hands high and thirty paces thick. Catapults and archers lined the top. During the construction there had been some trouble with the local centaurs and quillboar tribes. However, once the wall was finished, no one had been foolish enough to attack the city. Until now.

Reaching the gate, Kurn saw that it was closed and bared. Sprinting to the eastern corner of the wall, the captain scaled the steep steps and made it to the top in less than a minute. Once there, he found archers with their weapons drawn, but they stood around casually making jokes.

"Who's attacking? Where are they? What are our losses?" Kurn asked. The group of archers chuckled and one of them pointed down onto the plains beyond the wall.

A lone horse and rider stood on the road to the south. Dressed in glimmering plate mail, the figure sat stoically upon his saddle. He was perhaps fifty paces away, well within bowshot. Across his lap rested the shaft of two-handed hammer. That, and his shining armor, marked him as a paladin, one of the champions of the alliance.

"One?" Kurn swore. "A single human rides up to the gates of Ogrimar and someone sounds the alarm? Who ordered the gates closed?"

"I did!" Kheylez, his second in command, appeared. "I'm glad you're here. I was hoping you wouldn't miss the show." He turned to the grunts along the wall. "Archers at the ready!"

"What the heck are you doing Kheylez? It's just one human."

"Who cares? He's alliance, which means he's the enemy! Or haven't you heard about the fighting going on in the Warsong Gulch?"

Kurn grimaced. "Warchief Thrall says we're to steer clear of the Night Elf lands. Then Hellscream's brood runs up there and literally starts cutting out a little empire for themselves. How did they think the elves would react? Serves the Warsong right if you ask me."

"My brother died fighting the humans who tried to invade Durotar five years ago. They're animals, and they all deserve to die." The younger officer turned to the archers. "Take aim boys!" A dozen bowmen raised their weapons.

"Belay that!" Kurn roared. He moved up to Kheylez and shoved him hard. "Listen to me whelp. Thrall dealt with Admiral Proudmoore's forces, and he'll deal with you in the same manner if you're not careful. This is about more than revenge, this is about…"

"Ahoy the wall!" the cry arose from the plain below. It was the paladin, speaking the language of the orcs.

"How does he know our language?" Kurn's eyes narrowed.

"A spy!" Kheylez turned again to the archers. "Prepare to fire!"

"I warned you!" Kurn grabbed Khaylez's arm.

"Are all orcs cowards?" The paladin cried up to them. "I should have gone to the trolls. At least they do not hide behind their walls in fear."

Kheylez let out a guttural cry. Shoving Kurn to the ground, he screamed at the archers. "Fire! Kill him! Now!"

Too late, Kurn heard the twang of bowstrings. Rising to his feet, he watched as two dozen arrows descended towards the knight. For his part, the human simply raised his hand and cast a spell. A shell of light appeared around him, and the arrows fell harmlessly to the earth at the human's feet.

"I see that you are cowards then. The human raised his hammer. "Come, face me if you dare!"

Kheylez screamed in rage. Running past Kurn, he sprinted to the end of the wall. Jumping onto the battlement, he dropped down the outer face, where the wooden and stone fortification met the natural cliff. Scrabbling back and forth between the two surfaces he deadened his fall and somehow managed to reach the ground without killing himself. Pulling his two hand axes from his belt, he screamed a challenge.

The paladin dismounted casually.

"What's all this ruckus?" A new voice sounded next to Kurn. The captain glanced quickly to see an elderly orc flanked by two bodyguards in heavy plate armor. Kurn recognized him as one of the Warchief's advisors. The captain turned back to the fight below.

"Nothing to worry about, sir. Just a fool with a death wish."

"The human or the orc?" The older orc smirked.

The paladin stood his ground as Kheylez charged across the distance. Screaming with bloodlust, the orc swung both axes down in an overhead attack. The paladin stepped aside at the last second, then swiveled around and stuck the shaft of his hammer between the orc's ankles. The brute fell forward and landed in a heap just before the paladin's horse. The mount stepped back a couple paces and shook its' head as if it smelled something.

"Not many humans would stand unflinching before the fury of an orc's charge." Thrall's advisor stated. "How skilled is our champion?"

"Kheylez is my second." Kurn answered. "His skills in the dueling ring are quite good, and he has proven himself against the centaurs. However, I believe this is the first time he has ever fought a human."

Kheylez regained his feet and attacked again. This time the knight stood his ground. As the orc closed in, the human reversed his grip on the hammer and struck the orc's right arm with the weapon's shaft. One of the axes fell from a nerveless hand. The human then parried a flurry of strikes from the warrior's off hand weapon.

The old orc next to Kurn made a 'harrumph' noise. "This is over. The human has taken the measure of your boy's ability. He's just toying with him now."

Kurn could see that the advisor was right. The paladin danced outside of Kheylez's attacks for a minute, then swept in quickly and jabbed the orc in the face with his hammer. Kheylez fell to his knees, stunned. He was helpless.

"We have to save him!" Kurn yelled. "Archers! Prepare…"

"Wait!" Thrall's advisor laid a hand on Kurn's arm. "Look."

The paladin balled his mailed fist and landed a shot to the back of the warrior's head. The orc pitched forward onto his face, unconscious but alive. The armored figure then walked around and collected the fallen orc's weapons. Turning back to the wall, he tossed the blades into the dust next to their owner.

"Who's next?"

"Open the gate." The advisor stated. "I'll handle this." He began descending the stairs.

"Wait, old one." Kurn stumbled over his own feet attempting to follow the old orc. "How did you know the human wouldn't kill him?"

"My name is Eitrigg, captain. And I've had dealings with these paladins in the past. They have a perverse sense of honor. They'll put an entire village to the torch, but not kill an unarmed opponent." The elderly orc descended the stairs with a swiftness that belied his age. Reaching the bottom, he and his guards moved swiftly to the open gate. A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered and Kurn had to push his way through them in order to catch up.

The crowd had spilled forward out of the gates. Orcs were a proud race, and there were few among them who would let a challenge go unanswered. By the time Kurn got to the front of the mob, two more unconscious orcs lay in the road. The third, a short female, was using a quarterstaff to batter the knight at range.

"Back up, the lot of you!" Eitrigg shouted at the spectators. His two bodyguards drew their own weapons and faced the human. The onlookers backed away. Eitrigg signaled for his men not to attack. Instead he waited for the outcome of the current battle.

The quarterstaff did little damage against the knight's plate armor, but it succeeded in keeping him at a distance. Kurn could see that the human was starting to tire. Finally his footsteps faltered, and he stumbled backwards. The orcish woman let out a gleeful cry and closed in. Too late she realized that the knight had tricked her. He exploded upwards from the ground and grabbed the staff. Pulling hard, he drew the woman closer and rammed his hammer into her stomach. She seemed to fold in half around his blow, as the air was driven from her. With a grunt, he lifted her wholly off the ground and tossed her onto Kheylez's unconscious form. She moaned but did not get up.

The paladin turned to face Eitrigg and his two defenders.

"You had best stand back elder." The human panted for breath beneath his helm. "I would hate for you to get hurt while I tussled with your grandchildren."

"I am not so old that I cannot fight my own battles." Eitrigg answered. "But you should rest a moment. You seem winded."

"I am a warrior of the Light. It will take more than a handful of savages to tire me."

"Savages?" Eitrigg crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "This from a order of knights that would string one of their own up by the neck for the crime of not killing an orc."

The paladin took a step back. His eyes narrowed beneath his helm. "You're speaking of Fordring?"

Kurn saw Eitrigg smile ever so slightly. "Did you know him?"

"I did." The paladin reached up and removed his helm. Bone white hair spilled out around a face that seemed worn as old leather. Kurn had never seen a human whose' face was that weathered. But the man's blue eyes were bright and clear, and he obviously still had the strength to hold his own on the battlefield.

"It was you then." The human asked. "You were the orc that corrupted Tiron?"

Eitrigg chuckled. "The human sense of denial amazes me to this day. Corrupted him you say? I saved his life and he swore to do me no harm from that day forward. Your precious knighthood cast him out for that. But Fording was a man who understood honor. Even stripped of your precious holy magic, he chose to risk death to save me from the gallows."

"Indeed." The human stood silently for a moment. Finally he lowered his hammer and spoke. "My name is Mallius Crownguard. My fellow knights call me Mallet."

"I care little for what the soldiers of the alliance call each other. Why have you come here? We have been fortunate that no one has died yet today. Our nations have a great deal of bad blood between them."

The knight seemed about to say something, but then looked past the old orc to the rather sizable crowd behind him. Instead he whistled sharply and his horse trod forward. The knight reached up and removed a large object from behind the saddle.

"I am here to return something that does not belong to me." He unwrapped the blue cloth from around the object, revealing a monstrous sword. Kurn's eyes opened wide in astonishment, and several people in the crowd gasped. It was less a weapon than a enormous wedge of metal. The blade was nearly five feet long, and it must have weighed three and a half stones, or sixty human pounds.

"That is the weapon of an orcish blademaster!" Eitrigg raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "How is it that you have it?"

"I will tell you, if you do something for me." The paladin unfurled the blue blanket that was wrapped around the sword. Just then, an swift breeze caught it, and pulled hard. The cloth opened to reveal a white wolf's head on a blue background.

Kurn grunted. "The banner of the Frostwolf clan?"

"That is what I've been told." The paladin remarked. "I sought them in the mountains above Altrec. Three of their warriors and I had a… conversation of sorts. They told me that their chieftain was in Ogrimarr, so I came here. Now I ask you, where is the leader of the Forstwolf clan?

Captain Kurn laughed. "Ha! True orcs have a hard enough time seeing Thrall. I doubt he has time for a human."

"I did not come here to see your Warchief. I seek only the leader of the Frostwolves."

"The Warchief is also the chieftain of the Frostwolf clan." Eitrigg said. "Thrall took up the black armor after Ogrim died. And unfortunately for you, he is away from the city at the moment."

The human secured the wind swept banner to the sword and stood back and crossed his arms. "Then I will wait for him. This is a matter of honor. It is Grom Groknel." Kurn got the impression that he intended not to move from that spot until he got what he wanted.

'_Grom Groknel?_' Kurn blinked in confusion. The words sounded orcish, but he had never heard them before. He looked at Eitrigg. The old orc's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You know a great deal about our ways, paladin."

"I have fought on the soil of Draenor. And I worked in the internment camps my people ordered to house yours after the war." There was a murmur within the crowd at this.

A moan drew Kurn's attention. Kheylez groaned and began to rise from the ground. He shook his head and began looking for his weapons.

"You cannot stay here." Kurn said.

"I am not leaving until my work is done."

Eitrigg looked from the giant sword, to the banner, to the human.

"It was you who slew the blademaster?" Eitrigg asked.

The knight paused, eyeing the crowd, and then throwing a glance at Kheylez before responding.

"Yes."

A murmur spread thru the crowd of orcs. Kurn could feel the crowd's anger beginning to rise. Eitrigg was looking at the sword however, his eyes overcome with a distant expression. The old orc scratched his beard and turned to look at the crowd. Many of the orcs were young. Most had been born inside internment camps run by humans, or in the wilds of the Eastern Kingdoms, before Thrall led them to found their new nation. Their hatred of the alliance ran deep. Almost none of them could remember their life on Draenor, before the first war between men and orcs. The old ways meant little to them, but this paladin was a real enemy. Alive, and ready to be the scapegoat for their miseries. Kheylez growled at Mallet, and Eitrigg knew that he had to move soon to avoid violence.

Eitrigg turned back to the paladin and raised his voice for all to hear. "We orcs have always been a race of great warriors, fighting with honor, and living every day as though it would be our last. We have a tradition, dating back even before the Horde, that when a warrior is lost on the field, his clansmen would bring his weapons back to his kin and tell the story of his final battle. This is called Grom Groknel: 'The Last Story.' However if the warrior died alone, the tale of his fall would be lost forever. But sometimes, vary rarely, if the battle was so honorable and the warrior so valiant, the foe who vanquished him would be compelled to tell the tale. In this case, it was a matter of honor that the enemy be allowed within the walls of the clan's stronghold. To speak before the chieftain, to present the arms, and to tell the story of the fallen."

The crowd was silent. Even Kheylez seemed speechless. Eitrigg addressed Mallet directly.

"Mallius Crownguard, of the alliance. You say you are here to return the blademaster's sword?"

"I am"

The breeze gusted suddenly. The wolf's head banner snapped angrily. Dust from the barren lands whipped around them. Eitrigg had to raise his voice further to be heard.

"Do you swear to harm no orc while within the walls of Ogrimar?"

"By my honor, I swear."

"Lies!" Kheylez roared.

"Be silent!" Eitrigg threw the young orc a hard look. "This is matter of honor."

"The humans have no honor!" Kheylez spat at Mallet, but the wind swept his excrement away.

"I swear." Mallet turned to Kheylez. "By the soul of the warrior I felled. I'll harm no one while within your city."

"Your words are venom." Kheylez pointed his axe at Mallet. "I'll cut your tongue out to stop your human lies."

The wind flared and ripped the banner from the sword. The blue flag zipped left and right like a thing alive. It swooped down on Kheylez and engulfed him, bearing him to ground.

"You are in the presence of your ancestors!" Eitrigg shouted angrily. "Insult them at your peril!" Turning to the paladin the old orc walked forward and stood close enough so that the crowd could not hear.

"You should leave. Tell me the story. I can take the sword to Thrall."

"I am not afraid." Mallet said.

"Then you are a fool. Your oath binds not only you, but those you swear by. You killed the orc that sword belonged to. Thrall would be within his rights to order you beheaded."

The knight looked at the sword and thought long and hard.

"No. This is what must be done."

"So be it." Eitrigg gestured to his bodyguards, who took up positions on either side of Mallet.

"For your protection." The old orc said.

"Of course." Mallet whistled again and his horse approached him. He placed his hammer in a sling behind the saddle, the whispered in the creature's ears. The horse shook its' head defiantly, but Mallet whispered again. When he finished the horse backed away and turned and galloped south, towards the mountains. Mallet then reached out and pulled the sword from the ground. Then he and his escort turned and walked north into the city.


	2. Protocol

Chapter 2 - Protocol

"Is he insane?

Thrall stood on the edge of the sky tower, blinking in astonishment as Eitrigg told him the story of this morning's activities. Above him, two young orcs worked to secure the Warchief's private airship to its' moorings. In a twist of irony, Thrall had just returned from the same Alterc mountains that Mallet had traveled to months before. The airship however, had crossed the distance between Kalimdor and the distant Eastern Kingdoms in hours instead of days. Now that Thrall had returned home, he was preparing himself for the inevitable wave of bureaucracy that always resided here. Petitions, judgments, laws, treaties, challenges to his position, they all had to be dealt with. The young orc had thought he was prepared for whatever was waiting for him. But this newest development was quite unexpected.

The Warchief chuckled at the folly of the situation. "Where is the human now?"

"In the council chamber. He has requested nothing. He eats and drinks what he is offered, and only enough to be polite."

Thrall turned and looked up the ramp descending from the airship. "Did you hear anything about this, Drek'thar?"

A white wolf loped down from the airship, followed by the blind shaman. Drek'thar was probably Thrall's oldest friend, and a great ally. He had lead the Frostwolf clan after Thrall's father had died, and managed to keep the orcs free from both the demonic corruption that plagued their race, and the humans who sought to round up their people and force them into slavery.

"I recall now hearing a report from some of our scouts. A lone human wandering in the hills. The scouts thought they could take him, but he bested them and yet spared their lives. He kept asking to speak to the chieftain, so they told him to come here. That was probably at least six weeks ago."

Thrall sighed and shook his head. "I did not know there had ever been a blademaster among the Frostwolves."

"That was over twenty years ago. His name was Dorkan Tork. He used to be a part of the Burning Blade clan, back on Draenor. He sided with you father against the warlock Gul'dan. When Gul'dan wanted all the orc chieftains to drink the blood of the demons, Dorkan refused. He said that orc warriors should not depend on fel magics to win in battle. To do so would cheat us of true victory, and make us dependent on the demon energy. He was halfway right. But for speaking out against Gul'dan he was forced to join Durotan and the Frostwolves in exile."

"For years we lived on Azeroth. To be honest, I did not like Dorkan. He was a blademaster, and felt that every challenge should be answered with violence. After Durotan's murder he wanted to rally the clan and attack Gul'dan openly. I convinced him that the horde was doomed, and we should hide until the war was over. He did not care. "We are born to die in battle." He called me a coward, but time proved me right. When the war was over the humans built prisons for our people. One morning I awoke to find that Dorkan had taken most of our warriors and gone to free our people. I was furious! I tracked them down to the prison, but it was too late.

"I found a handful of orcs, and Ogrim Doomhammer, whom they had managed to free. Doomhammer was the Warchief, and we both knew the humans would never rest until they knew he was dead. It was too dangerous to bring Ogrim back to our clan. So we parted ways to draw off the human pursuit."

"What happened to Dorkan Tork?" Eitrigg asked.

"Doomhammer told me that Dorkan had stayed behind to cover their retreat. I never saw him again. But I know that there had to be hundreds of human soldiers at that camp, and not a single one followed us into the mountains. I have a feeling that this paladin knows why."

Thrall and his entourage began to move through the city towards the Valley of Wisdom, where Thrall held court. As they walked, the Warchief could see that the city was throbbing with excitement. Half the orcs seemed convinced there would be a hanging that night. The other half said a beheading would be at dawn.

Finally they reached the large building nestled deep within the canyon. Dozens of high ranking orcs waited within the large hall, squabbling about everything imaginable. As he entered, they rose as one to try to catch his attention. Thrall waved them off and moved towards the smaller hall that served as his throne room and audience chamber. Guards kept the unwanted out. Thrall slipped between them and away from the courtiers.

The inner chamber was sparsely furnished. The only chair was the uncomfortable stone throne reserved for the Warchief. The room was cold, the way Thrall liked it. It kept visitors on their toes. Half a dozen guards were in the room, along with several advisors and a couple of the city watch.

"It is good to have you back, Warchief." Nazgrel said.

"I see that things have been exciting since I left. Let's deal with the human first."

"Excellent!" An unknown young orc strode forward. "With your permission, sir. I request the right to kill him in single combat."

Thrall glowered at the new face. "You are?"

"Bloog guard Kheylez, sire." The soldier gave a sharp salute. "The pinkskin surprised me with an underhanded move. Until this day, I have been undefeated in battle. I demand the right to regain my honor."

"There is more to honor than standing undefeated on the battleground." Eitrigg said. Kheylez rolled his eyes but said nothing. Thrall turned his back on him and strode to his throne.

"I will hear what the human has to say. Then we will decide if he lives or dies."

Kheylez gasped aloud, along with several advisors. "He's a human!"

"Not all humans are the same." Thrall sat in his throne.

"He's a paladin. He's an orc-slayer! He has admitted what he has done! Justice must be served."

"Kheylez! That's enough!" Kurn roared. "The Warchief has spoken!"

"Thank you Centurion." Thrall gave Kurn a nod before locking Kheylez in a cold stare. "And you should remember who you are speaking to. I have been fighting the humans longer than you have been walking, pup! We are more like them than we wish to admit. This human will be treated with the same respect we would show our own warriors. And he will be judged by his actions, not those of his countrymen.

"But make no mistake. If he is, as you say, a murderer and orc-slayer, then the justice you seek will indeed be served. Now, bring him in."

Kurn and one of the guards turned and left the chamber thru a door near the rear. After several moments, they returned on opposite sides of the human. The man carried the blademaster's weapon across his shoulders, still draped in the flag of the Frostwolf clan. The orcs escorted him to the center of the room, and turned him to face the throne. As his gaze fell upon Thrall, his face paled. His eyes widened in an unmistakable fear.

Kheylez laughed. "The almighty alliance champion cowers before Thrall! You realize now that you're going to die tonight, right vermin?"

"Centurion, if Kheylez speaks again, you have my permission to take him outside and flog him. I've warned you, soldier." Thrall addressed Mallet directly, and spoke in the human language. "Are you afraid of me then, human?"

"No." The paladin answered. "It… It has been a long time since I have seen that armor."

"Oh?" Thrall glanced down at the black plate mail with bronze trim that were the mark of the Warchief. "Have we met before, on the field? Perhaps at the Battle of Mount Hyjal?"

"No." The human answered in the orcish tongue. "The last time I saw the black armor, a different Warchief was wearing it."

"Oh?" Thrall lifted an eyebrow. "Tell me."


	3. Mallet's Story

Chapter 3 - Mallet's Story.

"I was fifteen when I joined the army. I was twenty three when King Llane was assassinated and Stormwind fell to the orcs. It was a… difficult time. We fled the city taking to the sea and fleeing north on any vessel that could carry us. It was women and children mostly. There was a lot of fighting. Rich folk trying to bring everything they ever owned. Most of the civilians had never even seen an orc before. But that just made the stories worse. Tales of butchery and ravaging. Ridiculous claims about orcs raping human women, and begetting demonic offspring. It wasn't true of course, but that didn't matter. The people were scared. The army had failed them. The king was dead. There was almost no hope at all.

"Those of us who made it to Lorderon were a broken people. I can't imagine what we would have done without Lothar. He literally saved us all. He went to King Terenas Menethil of Lordaeron and, in the face of total defeat, he snatched victory. I wasn't there at the time. I had lost too many friends, too much family. But my brother was still alive. He was just a boy, too young to fight. I had to continue on, for his sake.

"It was in that drunken, depressed state, in a tavern in Brill, that he found me. Uther. Uther the Lightbringer. He was seeking those of us who had survived Stormwind's fall, who still had the will to fight. He had found a way to infuse warriors with the power of the Light. The bishop was helping him. How that man survived the destruction of the abbey at Northshire I'll never know. But he did, and he and Uther were founding a new brotherhood: The Order of the Silver Hand. They asked me if I wanted in. I took one look at my brother, and the life the orcs had taken from us, and I said yes.

"The Light changed everything. We could revive our exhausted brethren on the battlefields. We could finally stand up against the warlocks and their demons. But there were only a handful of us, and the Horde was unstoppable. We lost town after town. Driven out of Khaz Modan, up out of Arathi, and into Hillsbrad. It was then that we discovered the king of Altrec had made a deal with the Warchief. He did it so that his country would be spared. Thousands had died and those men… they had sided with the Horde. I remember the soldiers were so angry. We marched on Altrec and burned the city to the ground. It was unforgivable what we did. But it was a different time. The people today, they wouldn't understand.

"The war was as good as over by then. Several of my superior officers had died, and I was promoted due mostly to the fact that I had lived as long as I had, and seen as much as I had seen. The Horde turned east then, and attacked the Hinterlands. Suddenly the Wildhammer dwarves saw what was coming and joined us. Their griffins and enchanted Stormhammers changed the way battles were fought. The air was filled with death. Then a miracle happened

"The orcish warlocks were gone. Almost overnight. We heard rumors of a power struggle within the Horde. That the leader of the warlocks had taken their dark wizards and run off. All I remember is that this was when the tables turned. We pushed the orcs out of Lorderon, back south past Dun Algaz, through Kaz Modan, and into the Searing Cauldron.

"It was there, at the foot of Blackrock Mountain, that it ended. I lead a mixed company of footmen and archers, tasked with defending the right flank. The enemy assaulted us with a force of ogres, catapults, and a couple of dragons. The elves we had with us were exhausted, as were my men. But we held for nearly an hour before I saw him. Ogrim Doomhammer, the Warchief of the Horde. You have no idea of how many times I fantasized about killing him. We all did. But when I saw him, and his honor guard, they were in retreat. And Lothar was hot on his heels. When they engaged, it was as if the whole war had just been a prelude to that battle.

"I wish I could have seen it, but just then a two-headed ogre decided it would be a good idea to end my life. It was my horse that saved me. The ogre and I fought for several minutes. He would have won too, but some of my men peppered it with arrows, and distracted him enough for me to crush one of his skulls. He went down pretty quickly after that.

"By then it was too late. I looked up from my kill to see Ogrim standing over Lothar's body. His death sent the men into a frenzy. There was screaming among the lines, and the infantry surged forward. The ogres near me were overwhelmed and in seconds my men and I were behind enemy lines and among their artillery. Orcish catapults are true engines of death, but rather frail when you get close to them. Once the artillery was destroyed, we closed in and surrounded the orcs. I was expecting them to fight to the death, but for some reason, Doomhammer surrendered.

"I don't know why Uther spared his life, but I was angry as hell when I found out. As long as he wore the armor, he was Warchief, and the rest of the chieftains did what he said. It took nearly a month for our army to reach the Blasted Lands, where it all started. Our mages closed the Dark Portal, and the rest, as they say, is history.

"King Terenas ordered all of the orcs rounded up and thrown into camps. This was close to thirty years ago. The first one finished was at Lordamere, not far from Durnholde. Lord Blackmoore presided over it, and it wasn't long before he started dipping his hand into the coffers. The money was taxed from the common people, and was supposed to pay for the orc's food and soldiers' wages. Instead it went to Blackmoore's family coffers. But that was not my concern. The war was over, and the threat of the horde ended. Soon after they were put in the camps, the orcs became docile, like cattle. Now it was they who were the broken people. The fighting spirit that had been so terrifying on the battlefield was stripped from them. They became a broken people. In the beginning we were afraid of them escaping, but after a while we understood that there was nothing to fear from these orcs. Some of them died from not eating, when the food was right in front of them. They simply wasted away. Even Ogrim, the great Warchief, was not immune to the malady. We let him keep his armor on, so that the men could see the fearsome lord of the clans walking among his people. I watched him, day after day, as he shuffled aimlessly around the camp. I hated him. I hated all the orcs. But Uther stopped me from doing what I should have. The Kirin Tor told Uther that the demon energy had left the orcs and that every day they lived was torture to them. He said that death would be a release for Ogrim, and that he should be forced to spend every day watching the remains of the almighty horde as they couldn't even find the strength to clean the filth from their own bodies. That, Uther said, was true justice. That was what Ogrim deserved. And as I watched the Warchief, I looked into his eyes and understood that Uther was right.

"Until the day of the raid. The day the blademaster came…"


	4. Lordamere

Chapter 4 – Lordamere

"What do you mean Ogrim escaped?"

Captain Mallius Crownguard entered the command tent just as the words were spoken. They came from Commander Ravensblood, a fierce older woman from Stromgrade who ruled the internment camp with a swift and harsh justice. She was livid as she stared down her second in command, Captain Pierce.

Pierce was sweating as he gave his report. "The attack was expertly executed, sir. A dozen orc warriors hit us by surprise. We killed half of them, but they did manage to breech the western wall. I haven't seen orcs move with this kind of precision since the war." Pierce was not a man Mallius respected. A noble-born from Hearthglen, he had paid for his commission and believed that rank alone was reason enough for him to lead men in battle. He had been in charge of logistics during the war, leading companies of supply wagons and requisitioning stores of food and wine. Today's raid was certainly the closest he had ever come to real bloodshed.

"Ah, captain Crownguard. So nice of you to join us. Where have you been?"

"Interrogating the prisoner. Only one of the enemy survived long enough to be captured. He said nothing, and died several minutes ago."

"So you didn't learn anything from him? Who he was? How many more of them are waiting to strike at us?"

"It was not a complete loss, Commander." Mallius dropped a medallion onto the commander's desk. It was a blue stone, inlaid with a white wolf's head."

"A clan insignia? I don't recognize it."

"Nor do I. And I've seen a great many symbols of the Horde. Bleeding Hollow, Shattered Hand, Twilight Hammer… but I've never seen this one."

"A new orc clan?" Pierce practically turned white. "Could they have reopened the Dark Portal?"

"Don't be ridiculous." The commander snapped. "We would have heard from Neitherguarde Keep if that was the case. As it stands, we will assume this attack was orchestrated by remnants of the original horde as a diversion."

"A diversion?" Mallius asked. "I doubt that. It seems to me that they were trying to free the prisoners."

"With what? A dozen orcs?" Pierce said. "Captain, please be serious. We have two hundred soldiers stationed here, and over eight hundred captives. How would they even get the prisoners away before the cavalry overran them? And where would they escape to? How would they feed them? No, it seems obvious to me that they came to free Doomhamer."

"Who they were and why they attacked does not matter. They escaped on foot with the Warchief. Captain Pierce, take the entire cavalry and find them. Captain Crownguard, as the only paladin I have at the moment, you will go with them.

"Yes sir!" Both men saluted and left immediately.


	5. Pursuit

Chapter 5 - Pursuit

The rocky foothills of the Altrec Mountains were treacherous terrain. How the scouts could track anything across this ground was beyond Mallius's grasp. More than once, his steed Star would trip up and almost fall. But Star was the best mount the paladin had ever known, and the animal kept on the trail without complaint.

"When will your people learn to ride rams like civilized folk." Tauphin Ironclaw, the dwarven priest, said as he glanced up the slope of the mountain where the orc's trail led. "I've told you a hundred times Mallet, those horses of yours aren't sturdy enough for real battle."

"Star can handle herself just fine, greybeard." Mallius grinned. But the expression faded as he saw Captain Pierce riding up along the column to join him.

"We should be moving faster." Pierce said. "We'll never catch them at this rate."

"The orcs can't keep up this pace forever." Mallet ground his teeth in annoyance. "They are on foot, and have not stopped once for food or rest in nearly fifteen miles. They will tire, and our troops will be fresh and combat ready when we meet them."

"Who cares?" Pierce argued. "There are forty of us and only six of them, according to the trackers."

"That's what worries me." Mallet replied. "It was a suicide mission to attack the camp with a handful of greenskins, even to free the Warchief. They had to have known we would follow them. This must be a trap. I want the men rested and ready for it."

"I'm in command here Crownguard, and don't you forget it!" Pierce turned and looked behind them. "Sergeant Brightblade! Enough dawdling! Double-time!" With that Pierce kicked the flanks of his stallion and galloped up the rocky slope towards the advanced scouts.

Tauphin shook his head slowly. "There will be unnecessary blood on the mountain tonight because of that man."

"Yes." Mallet reached behind him and pulled his two-handed hammer from it's sheath. "But Doomhammer will be worth it."

The dwarf cast a sorrowful look at his friend. "You don't plan on recapturing the Warchief do you?"

"Uther said watching the Horde suffer in lethargy would be torture for Ogrim Doomhammer. Well, I think it's time that someone put him out of his misery." With that the paladin whistled and Star sprinted up the mountain after the Captain.


	6. Dorkan Tork

Chapter 6 - Dorkan Tork

Stark white snow made it easy to see the orcs. A quarter mile ahead the small band was making its way towards a natural ice bridge that covered a ravine between two mountains.

"We have them." Pierce was ecstatic.

"Not quite." Mallet's blue eyes scanned the terrain. He chewed a little on the inside of his cheek. Something was wrong. Where was the orc's trap? "That bridge is narrow and treacherous. We wouldn't be able to cross it on horseback. A handful of orcs could hold it for hours, allowing the Warchief to escape."

"Then we can't let that happen." Pierce turned to the men and drew his sword. "Thirty crowns to the first man to kill an orc. Charge!"

A cheer went up from the cavalry and the men dug their spurs in. Thunder filled the air as the humans stormed up the mountain towards the fleeing orcs. Mallet leaned forward and whispered into Star's ear. His mount's barding was heavier than most, but still his horse pulled toward the lead of the pack. But not so far ahead as the scout's horses. The fast pintos had no armor, and their riders did not wear mail.

As they closed the distance to the orcs, Mallet began to think he had overestimated the enemy. He could see several of them were wounded, one of them badly. Doomhammer was easy to spot, his black armor contrasting sharply with the snow. As they approached, the Warchief reached out and lifted the wounded soldier onto his own shoulders. Carrying the orc in this fashion, the leader of the Horde somehow managed to keep the pace with his fellows. But even with that incredible show of strength, they were still too slow.

The lead scout gave a war cry as he closed in. One of the orcs stopped as they reached the base of the bridge, and held his ground. The orc spread his legs in an odd fighting stance, and held aloft an immense sword. The scout bore down on him. The orc just waited and Mallet was close enough that he could see his yellow-toothed smile. The scout raised his weapon and brought it down. There was an instant of lightning fast movement and the snow exploded as the orc appeared five feet behind the horse. The scout screamed as his horse collapsed out from under him. The mount's head had been cut clean off, and the man bisected at the waist.

The second scout pull back hard on his reigns. The orc saw this and began to laugh. Mallet had closed the distance and could now get a good look at him. The orc was bare-chested, and wore an odd skirt made of leather that the paladin assumed was made from the skin of his conquered foes. He wore a harness across his back, and a pole rose from it. A large flag of blue cloth flew from it, with the bared fangs of a white wolf's head flying in the breeze. He wore no armor at all, and his skin was covered with aged scars. His hair was a single long braid and a long scar ran down the side of his face. Most strangely, his eyes did not glow read, as other orcs did.

"Face me cowards!" The orc screamed in the human language. "Dorkan Tork has death for you all!"

The scout had pulled to a stop, seemingly paralyzed by fear. The orc cackled a hysterical laughter. He then charged forward and closed the distance between the two of them in the blink of an eye. The enormous blade swept thru the air and the scout's sword vanished. The blade fell to the ground, severed at the hilt. The scout trembled in fear as the orc pulled him from his horse with one hand. The green skinned warrior then screamed at the horse, and the terrified beast turned and bolted back down the mountain.

Mallet crossed the last distance and pulled back just out of range of the orc's weapon. Star reared back and towered over the orc. Mallet raised his hammer and looked down at his foe.

"Release him at once!" The knight cried.

The orc howled with laughter. "Why? Are you afraid I will kill him? His blood is not worthy of my blade." The orc turned to the scout and drew their faces close together. "You'll remember this day, won't you human. Today is the day that Dorkan Tork spared your life." And with that he lifted the scout with one arm and threw him bodily down the mountain.

Star neighed loudly. Mallet patted her flank then slowly began to dismount, never taking his eyes off his opponent.

"Why do you not fight from the back of your beast, pigskin?" Dorkan asked.

"You showed that man mercy." Mallet said as his feet touched the ground. "I asked you to release him and you did. Honor demands that we fight as equals."

"You are not my equal, cur!" The orc's face flushed olive with anger. "I spared his life as a true orcish blademaster would spare the life of any unworthy opponent. Now my face will haunt his nightmares. He will tell his children of this day, and they will tell their children. And in this way, I will become immortal. Bah! Why do I tell you this? You humans know nothing of honor! How could your weak race ever have defeated the Horde?"

As the orcs words echoed off the mountains, the thunder of hooves rolled over it. The main body of the cavalry pulled up behind Mallet. The men stopped and watched the two combatants. Captain Pierce and Tauphin were among them.

"What are you doing, you fool?" Pierce yelled at Mallet. "Doomhammer is almost across the bridge." The knight glanced across the ravine and saw that the captain was right.

"None shall pass!" The orc spread his heels and raised the sword with both hands.

"You men, kill him." Pierce gestured to three cavalry officers. All three men lowered their lances and charged the orc.

The wind gusted suddenly, throwing up a screen of snow and flaring out the flag on the blademaster's back. Without warning, Dorkan's body became indistinct and Mallet could have sworn there was not one orc, but several. Each of the shadowy warriors leapt into the air and set upon the horsemen. There was a clash of steel and three rider-less horses screamed in panic. All of the officers lay on the ground, surrounded by their own broken weapons. Not a single wound blemished their bodies.

The wind and snow died down, revealing only one orc. "Unworthy! All of you!" The orc turned to the rest of the cavalry and spread his arms. "My name is Dorkan Tork! Remember it when you go crawling back to your women! None of you shall pass while I still draw breath!"

Pierce was livid. "The Warchief is getting away! Ignore that orc and stop Doomhammer!"

The blademaster howled and lifted his sword high above his head. A terrible stillness filled the air for a moment. Then Dorkan wheeled on one foot and brought his blade down on the bridge itself. A wave of force crested forward as the weapon split the air. The force struck the ice bridge and it shattered like crystal. A thousand clear pieces rained down into the ravine.

"Now I am your only opponent. There will be no more distractions." Dorkan said in a quite, almost serine voice. He stood up straight, something orcs rarely did.

"That insane fool!" Pierce blinked uncomprehendingly. "That imbecile has cut off his only means of escape."

"Escape?" The orc asked with an eerie calm. "Why would I run from the likes of you? Do you think I have no honor?"

"Surrender, filth. Or die!" Pierce pointed his sword at the orc's unflinching eyes. His enemy's attitude seemed to be unnerving him. "You are outnumbered forty to one."

"I do not fear death. And I will never surrender." The orc swept the horsemen with his icy stare. "Hear me, men of Azeroth. I did not come to your prison today to free the Warchief. My war is over. My people are gone. I came to seek out the warriors who defeated the Horde. I came to find a challenge worthy of my blade. I came seeking honor and glorious combat. And perhaps, perhaps even death.

"And what have I found? Cowards who will not fight unless victory is certain. You follow a leader who soils himself at the thought of combat." Dorkan raised his sword and pointed the tip at Pierce. "Is it you? Are you the one who's sword will finally bring down Dorkan Tork?"

Pierce's eyes were wide, his bottom lip trembling. "Men! Dismount at once! You will rush this monster and throw him into the ravine!"

The cavalrymen turned and blinked in astonishment at what Pierce had said. Sergeant Brightblade spoke up first. "Sir, with all due respect..."

"Do as I say!" Pierce screamed. His eyes were wide and froth was forming on his lips. "If you all attack at once he will only be able to kill four or five of you! It's my only chance!"

"Ignore that order sergeant." Mallet strode forward slowly, until he stood in line with the orc's blade. The orc's eyes dropped from Pierce and met the paladin's. Mallet felt fear wash over him like ice water, but he held his ground.

"Sergeant Brightblade. I am relieving Captain Pierce of command. I want you to take the men back down the mountain and find a way up the other side of that ravine. If you move fast, you might be able to pick up Doomhammer's trail before sundown. I will handle this… situation."

"You can't be serious, sir." Brightblade said as he reached across and took the reigns of Pierce's horse. The captain was so incoherent that he didn't seem to notice.

"You have your orders, sergeant. Tauphin will remain behind with me. Now move out."

The sergeant nudged his horse and trotted quickly downhill. The rest of the men filed after him silently. They cast glances behind them at the two warriors facing off against each other. Mallet did not need to hear their whispers to know they did not expect to see him again. Only his friend the dwarf remained. Tauphin sat astride his mount several yards away, holding Star's reigns in silence.

The blademaster stood alone, his back to a chasm of air. The wind whipped at the flag on his back, making the wolf's jaws seem to snap in furious anger. He glanced back across the ravine, but Doomhammer and the other orcs had already fled.

"It seems your Warchief has abandoned you." Mallet said.

"He was never my Warchief." Dorkan looked into the sky, in the direction of the setting sun. "He and the other chieftains turned their backs on the old ways in their quest for power. There was no honor in this war, no glory in its battles. Only slaughter and butchery."

Mallet cleared his throat. "I will fight you on one condition. If you win, you let the dwarf live. He is a man of the cloth, and no threat to you. He will carry my body back to my family."

The orc watched a lone eagle soaring in the sky above them. "And who will tell my Grom Groknel? Where would they take my broken sword?" He turned to Mallet and gave the paladin a strange look. "You have shown remarkable courage and honor for a human. What are you called?"

"My name is Mallius Crownguard."

"Know this then, champion of men. My people were once proud. Our shamans called the spirits to battle, and our warriors lived each day as if it was our last. Today the orcs may be defeated, our spirits broken and bodies lying docile like sheep in your camps, but it will not always be so. One day, we shall rise again, to reclaim our birthright. We will become the people we once were."

Dorkan raised his enormous sword with one hand and pointed it at Mallet's heart. "When that day comes, this sword and this flag will go to my people. My people will know that there was one blademaster who never fell to the Legion's corruption. There was one whose heart was never crushed, whose flame never died. If you survive this battle, you will bring my Grom Groknel to my people Mallius Crownguard. You will do this, or I swear by my ancestors that my spirit will haunt you and all your children for eternity."

Mallet stared at the orc. Stared at this creature that represented everything he hated. He thought of the war, of his lost home and his dead family. He thought of Ogrim Doomhammer and how much he hated the Warchief, of how many times he fantasized about killing him. He had always thought of the enemy as a mindless, soulless monstrosity. And now, in the face of all that, he felt himself compelled to do what he thought was impossible.

"By my honor, I will do as you ask."

Dorkan Tork nodded silently, and then drew his weapon up into a fighting stance. Mallet gripped his hammer in both hands and summoned the power of the Light. He felt the holy energy infuse his being and the very air around him began to glow.

Like lightning the orc rushed forward. Reflex alone brought Mallet's hammer up to block the attack. The orc's face was inches from the human's and the paladin could smell his enemy's foul breath.

"Now human, fight me. Fight me with every ounce of your heart and soul. For I am Dorkan Tork, and I will not be felled easily!"


	7. Judgement

Chapter 7 - Judgement

Thirty years later, Mallet stood before Thrall. The Warchief had listened to his story without interruption. Indeed, no one in the audience chamber said anything. At last, Kheylez broke the silence.

"Well… Who won?"

Kurn reached out and smacked the back of Kheylez's head. "Idiot." He glanced apologetically at Thrall.

"In truth..." The human began. "I cannot recall the battle. It is a blur of pain and exhaustion. My wounds were mortal. If Tauphin had not been there, I would certainly have died on that mountainside.

"Afterwards, I returned to the camp with the flag and sword. The men thought I kept them as trophies of my victory, but I knew the truth. These items did not belong to me. I was merely their guardian until the time was right. Two years ago news reached me that the orcs had founded a city in Kalimdor. That was when the dreams began. I could hear his voice in the wind, see his face in the clouds, hear his laughter when I slept. And so I came, to discharge my oath."

Mallet strode forward and laid the weapon and the flag at the ground before Thrall's throne. The Warchief looked at them solemnly.

"Warchief." Kheylez strode forward. "About my request…"

Thrall grimaced at the stone guard. His nostrils flared with impatience. "What of it?"

"With your permission, great Warchief, I would like to escort this… valiant warrior… to the city gate. It would be a great honor to me, and it may avoid any… accidents."

Thrall looked into Kheylez's eyes and saw sincerity there. He nodded. "So be it." The lord of the clans then turned to face Mallet. "And what of you, paladin? Will you return to Altrec to continue waging war against my people?"

"No." Mallet replied. "I am done with war, and with fighting. I am going home, to see my family. And to hang up my hammer forever."

"Very well. I thank you for your troubles, and I wish you well on your journey home." Thrall turned to Drek'Thar.

"Did this blademaster leave behind any kin?"

"He did not, lord Thrall." The blind shaman answered.

"Very well. I will take custody of these artifacts. Until someone worthy of them rises from our ranks. Someone of strength, who understands the true meaning of honor."


	8. Honor

Chapter 8 - Honor

"You know he let you win." Kheylez said.

Mallet said nothing. He stared south across the barrens. A tiny gold spec could be seen moving along the horizon. The paladin watched it with unblinking eyes. Kurn, Eitrigg, and Kheylez stood nearby.

"I think not." Eitrigg said after a moment. "I did not know this Dorkan Tork, but it seemed to me that he would have been too proud to do that. Dorkan may have had a death wish, but he would never battle with less than all of his ability."

The gold speck drew closer, and took the shape of Mallet's steed. It galloped close, and stopped a dozen paces away, eyeing the orcs warily. Mallet strode to his old friend and patted Star's flank. Mounting her quickly, he turned to the orcs.

"I thank you for your hospitality, and for seeing past your prejudices. Eitrigg, I see now what Tiron saw in you. I wish I had his strength, but the wounds of the first war run too deep. In truth, I came here expecting that your people would never let me leave. I was not expecting to ever see home again. Now I face an uncertain future. Perhaps in time, maybe the alliance and horde will grow to hate each other less."

Kheylez merely grunted. "Your story may have fooled the rest of them, paladin, but I know the truth. Your alliance is weak. The orcs are the destined rulers of this world. It is only a matter of time. Out of respect for my Warchief, I will not challenge you today. But one day we will meet again. And on that day, I will reclaim my honor."

Mallet frowned. "Your words echo of Blackhand and of Doomhammer. We may meet again on day, and you might even defeat me on the field. But you cannot reclaim what you never had." And with that the paladin turned and galloped off into the sunset.


End file.
